Only As a Friend
by Sela McGrane
Summary: Hermione sends a confession of love to Minerva McGonagall, hoping for closure. The woman she's been in love with since she was a teenager does not seem inclined to give her what she wants.


**Well, as many of you know, I'm in the process of moving this week and thus kind of sent out a memo to not expect updates from me for the next little while... however, in the grand scheme of moving cross country, 3000 miles away from my 'Minerva', I got all Gryffindor (I really should just stay in my own house of Slytherin, but I'm dumb, so...) and wrote my Minerva a confession letter. The letter in this fic which Hermione writes to Minerva is an edited copy of the letter I wrote to _my_ Minerva, and the response Minerva sends Hermione, is a slightly edited copy of the reply I received. Everything beyond that is speculation and imagination, though Hermione's reaction to Minerva's reply is not unlike my own. I, however, am not so Gryffindor as to do what she does in this fic. All that said, the last two days for me have been filled with heartache, questions, and brandy. I am SO greatful to my fans right now - because if it weren't for you, I'd feel totally alone right now, and while I'm in pain, there are others out there who at one point or another, have shared my misery. Again, thank you all!**

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><p>It had taken every ounce of Hermione's Gryffindor courage to send that letter. Confessing that she was in love with her former teacher, Minerva McGonagall, had not been a confession bred in hope of something to come of it, but rather a last stitch effort to give herself closure. She hoped, and even expected, that Minerva would very clearly state that she did not share any such feelings, and probably that she was repulsed by the very notion. Of course, the blasted woman had said no such thing. The return Owl had been short and to the point.<p>

_Hermione,_

_I have known for some time how you felt. That is why I cut you off. You were one of the most gifted students I have ever had the pleasure of having in class. I would appreciate a note on how you are doing now and then, but it is only as a friend. It can never be more than that._

_Best Wishes,_

_Minerva_

It boggled Hermione's mind that Minerva had _not_ indicated a lack of reciprocated feelings. It had been seven years since the younger woman had graduated from Hogwarts, a year after the war had ended. She was pushing thirty now, which was why she'd chosen this time to even send the letter. Hermione hoped, at best, that Minerva would respect that she was a grown woman, and that her feelings would not be dismissed as a teenage infatuation. Of all the things Minerva could have said in reply, Hermione was, as per usual regarding the elder witch, surprised by the reply.

How long, exactly, was _some time_, Hermione wondered to herself as she sat in her bed re-reading the letter for the tenth time. If she didn't know any better, she'd have called Minerva a Slytherin in her cryptic response, rather than the Gryffindor that her former Professor undoubtedly was. On the other hand, Minerva was very intelligent, much like her protegé, and Hermione couldn't bring herself to put it past Minerva to send her own confession on the down-low.

For ten years now, Hermione had wondered if Minerva could feel the same. In sending off her confession, she'd been certain that lingering question would be put to rest; that the current Head of Hogwarts would make it clear that she did not feel the same. The fact that she had not…

Hermione shook her head, willing herself to be reasonable. Minerva _must_ have just assumed that she'd know the love she felt was unrequited without it needing be said. But why risk it? Why would Minerva take any chance that Hermione would not get the vague message of the older witch not being remotely interested. It made no bloody sense!

Another sip of muggle Brandy burned its way down Hermione's throat. She threw the now empty bottle at her bedroom wall, not flinching as it shattered and fell to the floor in pieces. Her heart was no better off, right now. Grabbing a pillow, Hermione curled up on a ball and silently cried. The tears were not brought on by rejection, but by a deep seeded agony in how her best effort to bring about closure and its failure.

Hermione passed out after a time, and was swept into a tortuous dreamland in which, like many, many nights before, Minerva loved her.

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><p>Minerva McGonagall rubbed her temples, furious at herself for letting things go this far. She'd known for several years that her former student, Hermione, harbored romantic feelings toward her. Aside from the obvious things - her own husband and children - standing in the way of a relationship between herself and her much, much younger former pupil, there were other factors to consider, all of which Hermione was perfectly well aware. Minerva had been raised in a world where homosexuality was decidedly frowned upon. Her father had passed away some years ago now, but her mother was still around, and would be decidedly unhappy with her, should she entertain the very thought of being with Hermione.<p>

Had someone asked Minerva fifteen years ago if she imagined she'd ever love anyone other than her husband, she'd have firmly answered _no_. She was dedicated to Tom, and to their four children; two of which were older than Hermione was. She was not a young woman anymore, and on principle of that alone, she shouldn't care in the slightest about her former pupil's interest. Despite knowing how Hermione felt, she knowing she _should_ have confronted the younger witch the moment she realized… she hadn't.

Then, she'd justified it by how they seldom interacted anymore, and how it wasn't as if she was leading Hermione on, and how she wanted to continue being a positive influence on her protegé's life. Besides, she'd reasoned, those feelings were just a phase. They would pass, surely.

The years passed, and it wasn't long before Minerva forgot the reasons she'd maintained contact with Hermione Granger. She just did. Hermione had, just a few years ago, married Ron Weasley after getting pregnant with their daughter, Rose. The red-haired little girl was three now, and had a nearly two year old brother; Hugo. By all appearances, Hermione had moved on. Still, the seldom sent letters and interactions between Minerva and her former pupil left the elder in doubt.

The letter she'd received a week ago was evidence to the fact; a heartfelt composition in which Hermione had made it perfectly clear how she felt. Minerva's eyes drifted down to the by now very familiar parchment, and allowed herself to read Hermione's confession once again.

_Dear Minerva,_

_You have not replied to an Owl from me since last February, when my grandmother passed away. I'm not counting the thank you note for your birthday present this past October, because you're far too kind not to say thank you for a gift. The last Owl you replied to was the one before the letter in which I asked what I mean to you. You never answered, and I did not press. I did not bring it up when I dropped by Hogwarts a few months ago. I waited for you to reply to the one question I ever truly wanted you to answer. There was no right answer, and no wrong answer. I just needed to know. _

_Minerva, I love you. Much, much more than I should. I'm in love with you. I have been for more than a decade. If you've not already guessed as much, I know that this confession is unwanted, and probably unwelcome. Right now, I don't care how you feel about the matter. I don't care that you don't approve of homosexuality. I don't care about how angry you may feel right now, or how betrayed. _

_I have never, not once, acted on my feelings. I've never made an attempt to seduce you or any such nonsense; not because I was fairly sure my feelings would be unrequited (though that is almost certainly the case), but because I respect you, and your marriage and family. I have kept this to myself for ten long years, because what I feel is not lust. It's not misplaced admiration. It is simply love for a beautiful, intelligent, kind and graceful woman, and with love comes respect. Don't you DARE reply to this and say that my feelings are unfounded in whatever way you may come up with. Wrong? Probably. But never lacking in sincerity. Do you have any idea how special you are?_

_I have thought, prayed, and argued with myself over the years regarding if I would ever write this letter. I've convinced myself that telling you that I love you would bring nothing but awkwardness, hurt, and regret. So why have I changed my mind now? Truthfully, I haven't. I'm still terrified that from the time you read this onward, you'll think of me in disgust. I've never expected you to love me, but a part of me hoped we could be friends. Or at least, that you would think of me with some fondness. _

_I'm writing this letter because I just can't hold it in any longer. You may run the other way if we ever cross paths again, but for once, I'm going to be selfish. This letter is to you, but it is for me. It's about hope for closure. It's hope that you won't be the first thing on my mind every morning, and the last thing before I go to sleep. It's hope that every white and red minivan won't make me think of you. It's hope that my love of archaeology won't always be a constant reminder of the woman who shares and nurtured my passion for the subject. It's hope that you'll stop invading my dreams. It's hope that somehow, someday...I'll find a way to let you go, because every email you don't reply to breaks my heart. And because you have said "keep in touch"...I continue to send you Owls, because God knows that come hell or high water, I could never, ever, say 'no' to you. _

_Yes, I married. I married Ron because I loved him, but more so because he didn't reminded me of you. Yes, he knows how I feel about you, and does not look down on me for it. I had children - my daughter is named after you. Rose Minerva. Minerva was not a random choice of names. _

_I think that's enough said. If you want to discuss this further, my door will always be open to you don't want to talk about it - fair enough. I won't press the issue. My only request is that you reply to my Owl, this one more time, if only to say you received and read it. Please, just give me that one thing. Sans you initiating contact with me, this will be my final letter to you. These words are my goodbye. _

_Love Always,_

_Hermione_

The whole letter was a work of art, Minerva mused with a sigh. Her reply had been short and lacking - she hadn't known what to say to such a beautiful confession. Minerva's heart wrenched as she wondered if Hermione would be able to see past what little she did say, and notice what she had not.

She had not told Hermione that she _didn't_ love her - because Minerva couldn't lie to the beautiful young woman, not outright, and despite all reason, she'd slowly but surely fallen for the younger woman. That said, it didn't change that she and Hermione could never be more than friends, if that. She could not enter into an affair, nor could she leave Tom. And she certainly would not be able to live with herself if she were the reason that young Rose and Hugo grew up in a broken home. While her own children were grown, and might be able to adapt to a world without their parents still together, Hermione's young children deserved to grow up with two loving parents, dedicated to each other, and Minerva would not become the reason they had anything less than that.

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><p>Hermione couldn't stop thinking about it. She couldn't stop thinking about how Minerva had not directly, or indirectly, said she didn't also feel something. And it was making her miserable.<p>

"What's wrong, 'Mione?" Ron asked, seeing her on the couch, just staring a book. She'd been like that for thirty minutes or so, and had not turned a single page.

"I wrote to Minerva," Hermione whispered. "I told her how I felt."

Ron frowned. "Wow. What prompted that?"

"Our upcoming holiday in the states," she replied with a shrug. "Figured if she reacted really badly, I could always just stay the in America."

"Well you might have consulted me, first," Ron chuckled. "Regardless, good for you. I'm sure it feels good, to have it off your chest after all these years."

"A bit," Hermione admitted. "Though her response has only served to confuse me further."

"She wrote back?" Ron asked. "May I read it?"

Hermione pulled the neatly folded bit of parchment out of her pocket and handed it to her husband. "Here."

Ron's eyes darted quickly over the short letter. He paused when he'd finished, looked up at her for a moment, and then back down at the parchment and read it again. "She didn't… she didn't say she _didn't_ feel anything for you," he finally said, frowning. "Odd. I'd have figured that would have been the first thing she'd have said."

"If it were the truth," Hermione replied softly, "you're right. She would have."

"So you're thinking now that she is in love with you as well?" the red-haired man asked.

"I'm certainly wondering," she admitted.

Ron handed the letter back to his wife of just over three years. "And if she did?"

"It doesn't change a thing," Hermione assured him. "She wouldn't engage in a relationship with me, even if she did feel as I do. She's married, has children older than us, and it goes against everything she believes in."

"You wanted closure, didn't you?" he asked after a moment.

"I did."

"And she didn't give it to you," Ron mused.

"No."

"So now you want to go to her, and get your answers once and for all, don't you?" he asked after another pause.

"Yes," Hermione whispered, looking away from her husband. She hated that he was so dedicated to her. She didn't deserve him. She didn't deserve his understanding about Minerva. And she certainly didn't deserve what she knew he was going to say next.

"Then go," he said, taking her hand gently. "Go get your answers. I'll mind the kids tonight."

Hermione nodded. "Call Ginny and Harry if there's a problem."

"I may just call them now," Ron countered, cracking a smile. "Now get out of here, you crazy witch."

"Thank you Ron," she said, standing. "I won't be long."

"Take all the time you need."

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><p>Minerva looked up from her desk when a knock sounded on her office door. It was just after dinner time, so it could be any number of people come to talk about the problems of the day and how to resolve them before morning. Such was life at Hogwarts. Minerva pitied her husband and children sometimes, for how much this school took from them. "Enter!" she called.<p>

To her surprise, the visitor was not a member of the Hogwarts staff. Rather it was…

"Hi," Hermione Weasley said softly.

"What are you _doing_ here?" Minerva uttered. To say she was surprised to see Hermione mere days after telling the young witch there could be nothing between them was an understatement.

"I wasn't going to contact you again," Hermione admitted, "but your Owl left me with more questions than answers, and certainly not the closure I was hoping for."

"There's nothing more I can say to you," Minerva frowned as Hermione approached her.

"And what of what you can't say?" asked the younger woman.

_Damn_. Minerva thought. _One carefully crafted letter, made pointless by this woman's stunning intellect. _"Hermione…" she pleaded, silently begging the young woman to not press the issue.

"You know how I feel about you," Hermione pressed on as she walked around the desk and stood in front of the elder witch. "So now I'll ask…"

"Don't…" the older witch implored.

"Are you in love with me?"

Silence filled the room for a time as the two women stared at each other. Hermione knew that Minerva wouldn't lie to her outright, and Minerva knew that Hermione was currently reading her like a treasured book.

Minerva looked at the floor, tears beginning to fall as her soul was ripped to bits by one, simple question.

"Dammit Minerva," Hermione choked out. "Answer me."

The older witch looked up again, and stared into moist brown eyes. "Yes," she finally whispered.

Hermione let out a sigh, tears flowing freely by now. "Thank you…" she uttered. "For your honesty. Finally."

"We can't…" Minerva said, the words sounding bitter on her tongue.

"I know," Hermione replied, reaching out and cupping the other woman's cheek. "However much I wish things were different. Goodbye, my love."

Hermione pulled away quickly, and strode purposely toward the door.

"Wait!" Minerva cried out, clamoring to her feet and rushing after the younger woman.

Hermione had just turned around when Minerva reached her, quickly lacing a hand around Hermione's neck and through her still unruly mane of curls. The younger witch reacted without hesitation, again cupping Minerva's cheek, her free hand catching her former Professor's waist, drawing her in for a gentle, time stopping kiss. Minerva pulled Hermione's body flush against her own, desperate for what she knew would be their last contact.

When the kiss ended, the two remained tightly in each others embrace for awhile, both trying to memorize the feeling and the scent. Finally, they pulled apart, both looking mournful.

"Wow," Hermione whispered with a small laugh.

"Quite," Minerva replied, looking at the ground again. She could _not_ believe she'd just done that. Tom would never forgive her if he ever found out…

"Will I ever see you again?" the younger witch inquired, taking another step back.

"Perhaps, in passing," the Headmistress sighed. "Though only…"

"As a friend," Hermione finished, nodding.

"Only as a friend," Minerva repeated, trying to convince herself; because no matter how much she wished she did not feel as she did, the fact remained that she was in love with the woman standing before her. When their paths crossed, as she was certain they would between now and the end of her life, she'd be hard pressed not to kiss this woman again. It would be a forced behavior, that damned amicable behavior, now that there was no question to either of them what the fates had determined they meant to each other.

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><p><strong>Please Review. Merlin knows I could use the pick me up. <strong>


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